


The Spartan's Hero

by Persephone



Series: Sons of Troy [13]
Category: The Iliad - Homer, Troy (2004)
Genre: Multi, Sibling Incest, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:58:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone/pseuds/Persephone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hector is indeed all things to all people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spartan's Hero

Paris moved leisurely through the crowds of men around him. The battle fields stretched for miles in front of their walled city, littered with all manner of broken weaponry and other unsavory debris.

But he only needed to make it to Hector’s tent, and then he would return immediately into the city. He wore his armor, but only because it was daytime, and he carried his sword across his back, but no shield.

He smiled pleasantly back at the soldiers who stared at him, and smiled wider at the ones he knew by name, and other attributes.

Hector’s tent was empty, so he sat on one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs and waited.

The tent was large, but sparse and functional. All about were racks of Hector’s weapons, and pieces of spare armor, and strips of leather and rope. Paris bit down on his lip, already feeling the blood pumping to his groin. He eyed the sparse sleeping area in the corner.

Hector had not come home for two days and Paris had grown tired of waiting for him to do so. He himself could come out into the fields to look for him, but he detested this barren place and much preferred his comfortable house.

His plan had to work. It was a simple enough plan, and Hector was predictable. At times.

The entrance to the tent flapped open and Hector bent in. Paris’s breath caught, as it always did upon seeing his magnificent brother. He sat still and stared up at him.

Hector scowled.

“Alexandros.” He remained standing at the entrance. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

“Good day, Hector,” Paris replied.

Hector’s scowl deepened, and Paris hurried along.

“Well, there is nothing wrong, but Helen is…”

He let his voice fade, and Hector waited, saying nothing. But Paris saw his interest stir. He smiled inwardly. “She is in a mood again. I know it is not your duty to console her, but she seems to respond only to your—”

“I will come and see her.”

Paris stood up. “Thank you, Hector. And she has also made something for you.”

He walked to the entrance and Hector stepped aside as he approached, his face turned slightly away.

Paris stopped next to him and discreetly breathed in his scent, which he knew he should not. If he excited himself too much he would no longer care that it was the middle of the day, and that they were in the middle of the fields.

“I said I would go to her, Paris.”

Paris nodded, smiled, and walked out of the tent. He made his way back toward the Scaean Gates, regretful of the interval he would have to wait for Hector.

Then he noticed a soldier staring intently at him. He smiled slowly at the man, and was followed back to his house.

*****

The murmuring of the men he was walking in the midst of rapidly slowed until they all fell silent. For a moment Hector was baffled, but even before he turned in the direction of their stares he knew who approached.

Helen of Sparta.

He didn’t turn to look at her, approaching from somewhere behind them, he just stopped walking and watched the old men blush from head to toe, and begin to mumble and shift.

They had all been walking away from the palace advisory chamber, towards the gardens, where Hector hoped he could at last be rid of these old men.

His father, the King, had long left the meeting, and Paris, as expected, had not shown up at all. He himself had been trying to leave for what seemed like hours, but the old men would not leave him alone.

They wanted assurances, always asking questions to which they already knew the answers. They knew that he could give them details but not guarantees, yet they persisted.

Sometimes, to amuse himself, he imagined them as frightened children, merely wishing to hear his voice and be soothed.

At the moment they had all stopped walking, and were ruffling their robes about and clearing their throats, murmuring greetings to the woman approaching. Hector shook his head and turned around.

Helen walked with two waiting women behind her. She had on a hood, even though she had probably only come from her palace rooms. But when she was in one of her moods she would cover her face in public.

And who could blame her? Servants and nobility alike walking through the halls slowed to stare at her, though they must see her daily. But her presence seemed to rob them of the desire to do anything but stare.

He was sure they were reminded of the apparent cause of the war, which was what Helen believed. But he knew it was more than that. It was the need to see the beauty of a goddess.

She curtseyed low to him. He bowed and smiled slightly.

“My lady.” One of the old men moved forward and took her hand. She flicked her eyes up at him, and Hector watched his hand shake.

“How might we be of service to you?”

The others murmured their accord with this sentiment. Hector released a breath and stepped forward, out of the group.

“I’ve come for Prince Hector,” Helen said quietly, turning to him.

He gently took her by the elbow and began to move away as the men mumbled their understanding and shifted en mass. Her waiting women remained where they were.

She thanked them over her shoulder, then turned and smiled radiantly up at him. He smiled down at her and stopped when they were under a stone arch, out of ear shot. She pulled back her hood and Hector managed to maintain his polite smile.

If calling this woman beautiful was the highest praise a person could think of, it was better to not try at all. Mortal men were well advised to keep their distance, and adore from afar.

Only Paris would have dared.

“How are you, Helen?”

She began to flush. “Hopeless. But I would rather not speak of it here…”

“Of course.”

She took his hand and squeezed it, then released it and began to walk back the way she had come. He walked with her.

Once in a while he visited Helen in her rooms, usually with Paris there, to see that she was well. Troy had accepted her from the start, for who could reject a goddess who had chosen to live among them?

Nevertheless, she was sometimes prone to melancholy, and harsh self-derision, so whenever he could he made sure she was all right.

They had reached her chamber doors, and she pushed them open. He stepped in after her and realized her waiting women had not followed them.

Helen was already in the center of the magnificent room. Whenever he entered this perfumed room he was reminded of why she and his brother were together.

The room was decadently furnished, and though Paris sometimes stayed here with her when she wasn’t staying in his house, the room was hers, through and through.

She stood beside a wooden rack covered with a light cloth. He smiled tentatively and stepped closer. Her smile widened as she pulled off the cloth.

Hanging on the rack was a tapestry. Hector stepped up and examined it. Helen was skilled in weaving, and had rendered a battle scene of Trojans defeating Achaeans. There was a border depicting the victories, but in the center, and taking up most of the area, was one warrior defeating many.

Hector chuckled. “And that is me?”

She smiled. He straightened and shook his head. “Thank you. It is beautiful, but not necessary.”

She turned and took off her cloak. Beneath it she wore a pale silver robe. Its silk folds clung and flowed over her curves. Hector watched.

“Of course it is necessary,” she was saying. She pulled the cloth back over the tapestry, then continued in a low voice, “I cannot find enough ways to show you my thanks.”

Hector listened to her words, hearing.

He said slowly, “Alexandros often conveys your thanks, as well.”

She puffed. He found himself smiling at the delicate sound.

“Paris,” she scoffed. “All he _can_ do is convey my thanks. I have never met a man so uncaring of what others thought of his actions. He does not care even a little what all of Troy thinks of his absence from the fields.”

“That is true…”

She leaned her hip against the rack, and looked at him with half closed eyes. Hector felt his stomach muscles tug.

“You care, though,” she said softly. “And that is why you will always be the better man…” Her eyes swept him. “I wish I had been the wife of a better man…”

Hector said nothing. She _had_ been the wife of a better man.

She pushed away from the rack, and stood. They watched each other.

Hector knew she gave him the choice to leave or stay. And it was something he admired greatly in her, a trait she was not even aware she possessed. She liked choice.

She denied having it, but he accepted that about her, for it was indeed easier to blame everything on the intervention of a goddess.

He made his choice, and remained where he was. Helen slowly pulled apart her robe, then let it slip to the floor and stepped out of it. Hector stared, and didn’t question that men went to war over this woman.

It seemed he could feel the softness of her skin even from where he stood. Her golden hair fell down her back, and over her shoulders, down to her ribs. The silky strands partially covered the swell of her breasts and her beaded pink nipples pushed out from under them.

His eyes followed the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, dipped into the soft golden hair between her legs, and finally slid down her round thighs all the way to her curling toes.

She radiated perfection. Aphrodite’s love, she was called, and without a doubt she was. And while with Paris it burned his soul, with her it soothed him, and aroused him, until he could barely stand upright.

Her eyes shone at him with undisguised worship, and he felt himself grow even harder.

She walked toward him until she stood only a hair’s breath away. She slowly lifted up on her toes and breathed against his neck, “You bring them all to their knees.”

She ran her hands down his arms and intertwined her fingers with his. Hector stroked his fingers against hers.

“All our Trojan warriors do,” he replied softy.

She slowly shook her head, then kissed his jaw. “You,” she repeated. “And all for me.” She pulled her fingers from his and pulled on the braided rope of his robe. “And blind, mad Paris.”

“Yet you chose him over family and homeland…”

He looked down as the rope unraveled and dropped to the floor.

“On the whim of a goddess,” she smiled, and slid her hands under his robe. Soft, warm, and insistent.

He moaned deep in his chest. It was impossible to believe this woman did anything on anyone else’s whim. Even that of a goddess.

In one swift movement he bent and slid his arm under her knees, and swept her off her feet.

She exclaimed her appreciation and roped her arms around his neck, pressing her body and warm lips against him.

He walked to the bed and gently laid her down, kneeling between her spread legs. She immediately sat up and pushed his robe off him, kissing his shoulders and licking his chest as he breathed slowly. Her soft lips stroked over his flesh.

“Helen,” he gasped down at her. “Your lips are divine.”

She laughed softly, breathlessly, tossing her golden hair. “Yes, though not yet.”

He pushed her gently backwards, his huge hand filling the gap between her breasts, until her shoulders touched the satin pillows.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered a sound, and thought to turn around, but she slid her arms around his neck, and he followed her down. He kissed her lips, and forgot everything else.

Her mouth opened and he slid his tongue inside, gasping at the gentle heat. It was the antithesis of being with Paris. He felt soothed, and powerful, and there was no urgency or dread, only a languorous warmth.

She writhed under him and he slid down her body, licking and kissing as he went down. She gasped and squirmed, laughing softly. He smiled against her skin and flicked his tongue at her nipple.

“More…” she moaned, arching.

He laughed. “Yes, I think so, too.”

She was laughing, wrapping her legs around his body, and he was sucking at her breasts, running his hands gently over her skin, careful of his rough palms.

He descended lower, moaning appreciatively as she spread for him, breathing against her soft flesh. He stroked his lips over her. Her legs surged to clamp over his head but he pressed his hands against her thighs, keeping her open.

She buried her hands in his hair and pushed up into him, crying out his name. And he hadn’t even done anything. He chuckled against her skin, and insistently stroked his lips back and forth. He carried on like that, listening to her make warm sounds in her throat and beg him for more. Then slowly he pushed his tongue inside her, moaning as her smooth flesh enveloped his rough one.

She climaxed. He held her steady until she rode out the waves, and then pushed back up her body. He laughed down at her glowing face.

“You would be of no use in a battle,” he grinned. “You go down much too fast.”

She laughed happily at him and he buried his face in her neck, and then suddenly felt a weight press against them.

“You were supposed to _leave,_ ” Paris whispered fiercely into Helen’s ear.

Hector jerked in surprise, but Helen’s arms constricted around his neck. She flicked a look in Paris’s direction, and ignored him.

“Please stay, my prince,” she whispered against Hector’s cheek. Hector breathed through his mouth and tried to think though his mind refused to work.

How long had Paris been there? His mind scrambled, knowing he should not play with these two.

“Does not the savior of us all deserve my thanks, Paris,” Helen whispered heatedly, sparing him only a moment’s glance.

Paris smiled at her, leaned in and kissed her neck. She arched, and a soft beguiling sound escaped her lips.

Hector stared down at them open-mouthed. Helen’s hands tangled in Hector’s locks, but as Paris’s lips kissed upwards she turned to him and moaned as his mouth covered hers.

Hector stared despite himself. He had never seen anything like it…

They were beautiful together, and in them the goddess had free reign. Their lips slid against each other like honey overflowing a cup.

Helen’s hand moved in his hair, and she pulled his head down. He wanted to resist, but he did not want to offend her…

She turned her head and captured his lips, and then Paris was licking the side of his mouth. He jerked but she held him fast, and Paris’s tongue pushed slowly into their mouths, tangling.

Hector gasped loudly, heat flooding his face and groin. He was beginning to shake.

Helen and Paris were whispering to each other as they kissed him, their warm breaths sinking into his mouth, but he could not concentrate enough to understand what they were saying.

He took the opportunity to break the kiss and bury his face in Helen’s warm neck, on the other side of her away from Paris. He licked her, harder then before, his lips trembling against her skin.

Helen gasped and arched, sliding her legs over the backs of his. Paris moved in closer, and pressed his lips to Hector’s ear.

“Hector,” he whispered quietly, urgently. “Kiss me… the way you kiss her…”

Hector’s teeth scraped against Helen’s skin, and she moaned and twisted under him. He said nothing to Paris.

He couldn’t kiss Paris the way he kissed Helen, for with Helen he felt in complete control of himself. And he knew a small measure of gratitude that Paris did not seem aware of that.

Paris was rubbing his forehead against Hector’s temple.

“Hector…” he moaned softly.

Hector’s grip tightened around Helen, and he shifted and covered her mouth with his, pushing his now burning need to taste Paris into her mouth.

She moaned and licked at him, and when he broke the kiss and fled down her body, Paris moved up and whispered to her. Her laughter floated out like rose petals, and she slid out her wet, pink tongue.

Paris licked, and then sucked it.

“Do I taste of him?” she purred, smiling up at Paris.

Paris lowered his head and whispered into her ear. She laughed again, arching under Hector.

“Then _learn_ to share, dear husband,” she said in response to whatever Paris had whispered.

Paris stroked her hair. “You know I begrudge no one their pleasure.”

“Or so I thought…”

Paris laughed and lowered his head to her. She lifted her head and they kissed deeply. Hector watched, mesmerized.

He was a fool for not leaving… but their kiss was slow and so full of passion he could not stop his hand from moving back up her body to touch their mouths.

Both immediately licked his fingers before he pulled them away from Paris’s hot mouth and slid them into Helen’s. He felt her own hand against his stomach, fingers scraping. He moved up higher and his body contracted as her hand circled his erection.

Her grip was warm, and his hips lifted slightly, allowing her to stroke his tip over her thigh. He was making her thigh wet. He closed his eyes and groaned, flushed and breathing through his mouth, for he knew Paris watched him.

Paris’s hand slipped between their bodies, and Hector felt himself tense, thinking Paris meant to touch him. Instead his hand only stopped at his wife’s forearm, circling it.

“How does it feel,” he whispered to her.

“Big…” Helen replied coyly. Paris smirked, and lowered his head again to whisper in her ear. She made a sound of approval, and Paris moved away.

Hector looked down just as Helen was pushing against him. He moved with her, and she rolled on top of him. He sank back into the satin pillows and slid his hands up the back of her smooth thighs, sighing with pleasure.

She began to descend his body, and he looked down at the top of her head. Paris sat back on his heels beside them, but Hector kept his eyes on Helen. His erection was swaying over Hector’s stomach, squeezing out warm drops, but unattended to.

Paris licked his forefinger and swiped it across Hector’s taut nipple.

Hector’s hand whipped up and snatched his. Paris froze and stared wide-eyed at him. Hector’s breaths came harshly and he glared at Paris. Paris’s free hand moved, and Hector’s eyes shot to it.

“Xandros,” he growled fiercely, and hoped his fear didn’t show in his eyes.

He quickly glanced down at Helen and saw that she had stopped and was staring at them with her mouth open, equally wide-eyed.

He glowered at Paris, trying not to flush, and released his hand. Paris shifted from his kneeling position and moved down to Helen. Her eyes followed Paris, her mouth still open in speechless surprise.

Paris shook his head at her, licking his lips almost with relish. “ _That_ is mine.”

Helen’s eyes flicked up to Hector. Hector stared back, and said nothing.

Paris leaned in close and whispered to her, and she smiled with a mischievous glint in her eyes, then pressed her lips over Hector’s cock, swallowing it. Hector’s head fell back, and he groaned at the soft heat, and resolved to forget Paris’s presence.

She pumped her wet lips firmly over him, and his hands trembled against her shoulders. But then she let him slide out, and when he looked down he saw that Paris was ravenously licking her mouth.

He bit his lip to stop himself from whimpering. But his cock had already responded to the sight of Paris tasting him through Helen, and was pulsing insistently.

He would ask Paris to leave if he could… He would rather any shame than for Helen to see him lose himself to his brother…

But her lips were on his body again, and Paris was stroking her hair, watching her, whispering to her.

Hector tried to focus, tried to hear Paris’s words, but instead he was stroking his thumbs into the hollow of Helen’s shoulders, lifting his hips to her rhythm. It was as though her mouth was on every inch of his skin, sucking, making every part of him tighten unbelievably. It was impossible to think.

She stroked around his erection, softly, firmly, sucking steadily, and he felt himself relaxing, caught on a plane of nothing but pleasure. He allowed himself to relish the appeal of the goddess, the sensations that, without Paris’s rapacious appetites, were pure bliss …

He watched her head turn, watched Paris lick her again, and gritted his teeth. _Please leave,_ he thought helplessly.

Helen moved up over him, straddling him under her heat, and Paris moved behind her. She tilted her head back and licked Paris’s cheek as he circled his arms about her and glided his palms over her nipples.

“You do not resist the goddess now, my love,” Paris said.

She purred and covered his hands with hers, running her fingers over them as they stroked her breasts.

She stared down at Hector and smiled. “Not when she pushes me into the arms of _this_ mortal man.”

“Fair weathered,” Paris replied, and they both laughed.

Hector laid in a daze, staring hungrily at the two of them. He barely registered what they were saying.

Paris settled between Hector’s spread legs, his warm thighs sweeping against Hector’s. Hector clenched his teeth, fought for control, and forced his legs to widened, and not contract.

He smoothed his hands over Helen’s hips, over her backside, cupping her. She rotated her hips and despite himself he laughed, it felt so good. She smiled down at him, then leaned down and exquisitely flipped her hair in his face. He found himself laughing again, and breathed deeply of its scent. She was divine.

Then Paris pressed in close behind her, trapping Hector’s hands between his groin and Helen’s backside. He groaned loudly and thrust against Hector’s hands.

Hector tensed, not sure what to do, his fingers trembling. He wanted to pull them from Helen and reach around and grab Paris’s cheeks instead. He could reach him easily, could pull Paris into Helen and feel the two of them at once… he burned to feel Paris in his hands…

But Helen saved him by lifting herself and reaching for his cock. Her warmth enveloped him slowly and tightly. His head heated and began to spin.

“Helen…” he moaned long and low, lifting his hips.

“Yes…” she moaned in response, grabbing his forearms. Her head dropped back against Paris’s shoulder as she rocked against Hector. “Glorious Hector…” she gasped, “my mighty Trojan…”

He felt his cock pulse inside her and he thrust hard, holding her tight to him, staring at her beautiful breasts. His mind was fast unraveling, for he held a goddess by her hips, and felt her desire wrap over him like filaments of fine silk.

Moments stretched on themselves, and she rode him and he forgot his name, only knowing that he couldn’t stop thrusting. He groaned deeply and his hands ran all over her, cupping her breasts, gripping her waist, clutching her thighs. She shuddered everywhere, crying his name.

But suddenly she was leaning forward, her knees spreading, her body still flush with his. Then he felt Paris lift and bend over her, pushing. Helen was gasping loudly, staring down at Hector with blazing eyes and a wide open smile.

Confused, Hector tried to look around her.

Then he felt it. Paris was also inside her and through a soft thin layer of flesh he could feel it. His mouth opened, and he lost himself.

It was a slow fall. He first lost his ability to move against Helen, then he could not shut his mouth, then, when Paris slowly thrust, he lost his ability to think. And when Paris finally pumped his cock against his, Hector’s body spasmed, and he heard himself shouting as he came.

Paris didn’t slow down for a moment. Helen collapsed on top of Hector and cried into his neck as Paris rode her hard, grabbing her shoulders. She shuddered out her climax on top of Hector, and all Hector could do was wrap his shaking arms around her.

Paris slowed his movements until he pulled out of her. Hector vaguely realized that Paris had stopped without reaching completion, but was unable, and unwilling, to ask why.

He had no wish to discuss what had just happened, and prayed neither Paris nor Helen could see his humiliation.

Helen breaths slowed against him, and she licked his neck. He managed a smiled. She at least seemed unaware of his discomfort.

She pushed up on her hands and smiled down at him, her hair falling like a curtain around them.

“Oh, to come home to such as yourself,” she purred.

Hector laughed weakly and shook his head. Despite her words he had no doubt she would chose Paris again if presented the option.

She leaned down and kissed him, sliding her tongue against his. He held her by her waist and returned the kiss.

Then suddenly he felt a hard bite on his knuckles.

Hector exclaimed sharply and snatched his hand back. Astonished, he brought his hand up to see that his knuckles were bleeding.

Paris had bitten him.

Helen quickly slid off him, and off the bed. Hector lifted his head and stared in utter surprise at his brother. Paris sat back on his heels between Hector’s spread legs and stared back in defiance.

Hector’s surprise fast faded. He sat up, his eyes slits of fire.

“What is this?” he hissed.

Paris bit down on his lip and remained silent. Hector shot out his hand to grab Paris’s arm, but Paris moved back faster.

Hector stopped, then tried again, but Paris again moved out of reach. Hector tried one more time, and as Paris shifted, he barked, “Xandros! Stay where you are!” Paris stilled.

The heavy wooden door thumped shut. Helen had left the room.

Hector barely registered the fact. He no longer cared if all of Troy watched. If it wasn’t for the fading sting in his hand he still would not believe Paris had been wild enough to bite him.

He moved towards Paris, sliding off the bed to his feet, and Paris remained still. With both hands, he grabbed Paris by the back of his head.

Paris cried out but did not resist. Which was the sensible thing to do, as far as Hector was concerned.

“ _What_ do you think you just did?” Hector ground out.

But he didn’t wait for a response as he pushed and turned Paris over, then pressed down on his back until Paris sank chest down on the bed.

He gripped Paris’s hips and pulled him up and back, hard, and Paris’s feet slipped off the bed, hanging on either side of Hector’s braced legs. Hector felt them turn inwards and clamp around his thighs. He released Paris’s hip and brushed one foot off his body, but Paris twisted it back into place, tighter.

Hector ignored him and licked his fingers and slid them down Paris’s cleft until he found what he wanted. He sank one finger in and stroked down.

Paris cried out and dug his fingers into the sheets, pulling them up around him. Hector’s breaths seethed out through his clenched teeth, harsh and rapid.

“You are coming out to the fields with me tomorrow,” he hissed.

“You smile at her…” Paris gasped into the sheets, “…as if…”

“And by the gods,” Hector panted, “I will make _certain_ you fight in battle.”

“It was _my_ name you cried out when—”

“Shut up!” Hector shouted.

He slid a second finger inside Paris and Paris’s muscles clenched around him. Hector breathed through his mouth, but could not fool himself. He was getting hard.

“Tomorrow you will face your cowardice,” he grated. “And I am about to teach you how.”

Paris was softly moaning his name over and over into the satin cushions massed around his head. His sounds contrasted with the feverish heat building inside Hector, and Hector shook his head, fighting to not fall under his brother’s spell.

“Slowly,” Paris moaned, and Hector watched his fingers slow down.

Paris reached under him and touched Hector’s erection before Hector became aware that he was almost fully hard again. He pulled back, but Paris had already felt it.

Paris pulled himself forward, off Hector’s fingers, and turned onto his back. Hector slid on top of him and buried his burning face in Paris’s neck. Paris’s arms constricted tightly over his back.

“You have a lesson to teach me,” Paris whispered into his ear.

Hector meant to keep his eyes closed the entire time. His body already knew what to do, as it shifted and pressed, unaided. He sank into Paris, and Paris’s legs wrapped around his waist.

“Love me, Hector,” he whispered, and Hector did. His eyes opened, and he watched Paris gasping under him, staring up at him with shining eyes.

Hector stared at his wild curls, the curve of his swollen red lips, the flush under his skin, and wondered why he feared this man, why his beauty, and no one else’s, shredded him until there was nothing left of him but animal desires.

He pushed his hand into Paris’s hair and gripped… then he forced his fingers to relax, and instead he stroked.

Paris gasped his name in surprise, and Hector dropped his head against his neck and hid his surprised, self-satisfied smile. Perhaps he was still responding to the freeing effect of Helen’s presence.

But his heart pounded hard, and he stroked Paris’s hair again, and this time Paris pulled his knees up into his chest, and Hector sank in deeper.

He groaned and without Paris’s legs constricting him, began to move in earnest. He thrust smoothly and deeply, slow and steady, panting against Paris's temple, until Paris’s wailing began to ring in his ears.

He shuddered, and clutched Paris to him, and then let himself go.

*****

Beside him, Paris breathed quietly in his sleep, even more beautiful at rest. And deceptively innocent. Hector watched him, unable to tear his eyes away even for a moment.

Paris had been jealous of Helen.

Hector marveled, caught completely off guard by the fact, for Paris did not seem capable of such feelings. But this was the first time Paris had ever shared him with anyone else, had ever _seen_ him with anyone else. Perhaps it was simply a matter of Paris getting used to it.

But he doubted it. And he himself did not wish to ever again experience the humiliation of losing control over Paris in the presence of another.

But all that aside, Paris had nothing to worry about, for Hector knew what he meant to Helen… an ideal she could dream of when the mood struck her.

He in turn liked her, and despite her tendency towards exaggeration and dramatics, he found her no more harmful than any other mortal.

But for Paris he was not an ideal. Paris wanted him raw and flawed, saw him unadorned for what he really was, and wanted even more.

He released a deep breath. He had had deep cuts from swords, and spears and all manner of weapons, but nothing could compare with how deeply Paris cut him.

He sighed again, and sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. If the words in his heart could ever pass his lips, they would be as good as any oath he had ever sworn. And even more true.

He stood up and dressed as quietly as he could, watching his brother, thinking that the next day when he went back into the fields, he would take Paris with him after all.

 _End_


End file.
